


Snow-White Weed

by Rivers



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Gangbang, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con References, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivers/pseuds/Rivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Thor Kinkmeme. Thread here: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=20126209#t20126209</p>
<p>Odin catches Loki bottoming. He's absolutely furious that Loki would shame the house of Odin in such a way and as punishment he hands Loki over to the guards, figuring that they will gang rape the gay out of him. What Odin doesn't realize is that Loki is a shameless cock slut who has fucked most of those guards individually and doesn't really see a downside to taking them all at once... </p>
<p>Bonus: the guards think Odin is a sick fuck and make sure to make it good for Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fair torch, burn out thy light

In hindsight, it was probably a mistake to aggravate Böðmóðr. 

Loki had seen the hidden streak of malice in his heart, and used it for his own entertainment, teasing forth great and melodramatic scenes of jealousy. He enjoyed it at first, the ease with which he could create in Böðmóðr great fits of passion. But what was first a plaything quickly became an irritant; later, in the young prince’s fit of impatience to greet his new paramour, he had forgotten that one such as Böðmóðr would not be docile in his role as the jilted ex-lover.

And so, it has come to this: a thick, hard cock embedded deep inside him, the stimulation wracking through his nerves; streaks of sweat rolling down and rubbing between two bodies; and Odin’s shocked and angry gaze, urged from Böðmóðr’s revelation, pinning them from the doorway, his eye hard and glittering in the dim light.

The man on top of him rolls off immediately and scrambles to cover himself, while Loki sits up slowly, drawing a sheet around his shaking body. He avoids Odin’s eyes, carefully keeping his expression blank, while his heart yet raced from lust, and added shame, anxiety and anger in equal measure. 

He flinches when Odin snarls at the poor man attempting to escape the king’s wrath. With a sweep of Gungnir he flies almost comically through the air, landing heavily on his back, sliding a good few arm’s length along the corridor and lay unconscious. To Loki, the Allfather says coldly, “Dress yourself. I expect you at the throne room in ten minutes.”

He nods, numb and shaken, and reaches for his strewn garments. 

 

Loki fully anticipated that whatever forthcoming punishment was being drawn, it was sure to be painful and humiliating, and almost certainly public. Perhaps he would be sent off to some faraway realm to slay a monster. That would not be so bad; if he were killed, at least it would restore honour to the house and his name.

Hence his surprise, when arriving at the throne room, to see Odin alone and sitting rather rigidly in his throne. Asgardian tradition was to sentence such a traitor with witnesses at court, to give a properly disgraceful send-off. He searches his father’s face for hints of forgiveness or understanding, but finds instead unyielding anger and disappointment. 

“You have brought shame to my bloodline,” Odin hisses, his grip on Gungnir whitening his knuckles, “you have not only lain with man, but also allowed yourself to be defiled in the position of woman. You have opened our house to the slander and disrespect of the Nine Realms. You have betrayed the purpose of our gender, the duty as prince, and the honour of Sigyn your betrothed.”

“Allfather - ” Loki begins, but is silenced with a wave of his father’s hand. 

“Be calm. Despite your sins, I do not hold you personally guilty of this; I am certain that this is the work of some foreign enchantment, some curse hidden within you. Fortunately, there is a way to remedy this. A way to reverse this – aberration you have wrought.”

Loki simply waits, expression shuttered. 

“We shall fight this curse with the element from whence it came from. The Vanir have long studied – “

“No!” The exclamation leaves his tongue before he could stop himself. 

Odin’s face is graven. “You know of this method, then.” 

“Ay, Allfather.” It is a branch of Seiðr, a magic which purpose is to purge perverse lust from the body by sickening passion with mortification, and killing desire with pain – a ritual that calls upon close members of the household to perform the task. In Loki’s case, the elder sibling. 

He imagines Thor’s brow, creased with grief and disgust as he fights to wield desire for his own brother. Thor, who gives his embraces and kisses so chastely and freely, whose lips are always in readiness to quirk in a smile or laugh, who proclaims his love so easily and sincerely, whose eyes in all of Asgard light up upon sighting Loki. Thor, whom Loki only in his most secret and shameful dreams allow to touch and possess.

Odin would have Thor share the pain of Loki’s mistakes. He cannot bear it; he would not allow it. 

“Not Thor. Please, father, if you still regard me as son. Anyone but Thor,” he is unable to keep the pleading note from his voice.

The king regards the anguished lines in Loki’s face. “Thor is not in Asgard as of the moment,” he states. Loki’s shoulders sag in palpable relief. “Hence I shall delegate this heavy burden to a few worthy warriors, guards of my most intimate circle. Prepare yourself.” He gestures towards the door, looking suddenly weary. “You are dismissed.”

 

What Odin meant by “prepare yourself”, Loki could only guess. Nevertheless he indulges himself in a long bath in an attempt to slow his breathing, which does not entirely work. His muscles twinge and he jumps at sudden sounds. He feels sick at the stomach and grits his teeth against threatening tears and the thought of Thor, and how pathetic and undeserving he is of his brother’s love. 

He dresses in a light cotton tunic and returns to bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind in turmoil. Plans of escape run half-formed and peter out as he realizes their futility, for where could he go?

At dawn, two servants enter with a steel goblet half-full of clear liquid. Loki sniffs at it cautiously and identifies it as an immobilising concoction; he himself has brewed it three dozen times on behest of the healers. He would be able to feel, but not to move, protest or use magic on his own behalf. He pauses, knowing he deserves this punishment, having been brought up to face pain stoically, and yet part of his mind rebelling against it.

One of the servants sees his hesitation. “I am under orders to supervise your partaking of the potion, by free will or force; I beseech you not to make my job more difficult.”

Had he not spoken, Loki may have actually taken the drink willingly; but he is a prince, and innate pride bristles at the servant’s request. He stares at the commoner stonily. The manservant sighs and seizes his hair, forcing his head back before situating the cold metal between his lips, while the other twists and holds his arms behind him. He struggles and almost chokes as the bitter liquid slides stickily down his throat and chin. 

After a few mouthfuls, the servant shoves him backwards onto the bed, but fails to get out of kicking distance before Loki actually loses ability to move. He howls satisfactorily as Loki’s heel collides with his crotch, but then both move out of range before he could scratch their eyes out. 

He knows well how the potion works. Sure enough, in a few minutes he is entirely paralysed save for his eyes, which roll around apprehensively at the room around him. It is an unnerving sensation to say the least. The two men close the distance and lift him by his feet and underarms, carrying him out of his quarters as his arms dangle uselessly by his side. They have to put him down to close and lock the doors, and the injured man takes the opportunity to kick him forcefully in the face. 

Unable to even wince in pain, Loki embraces the unconsciousness that envelopes him, hoping that by the time he wakes it will all be over.


	2. Your uncleanness that which is divine

The dim light of the overcast sky filters through a high window in the bare room. Loki opens his eyes groggily to the small, empty cell and attempts to brush a ticklish strand of hair out of his face - which is when he finds himself cuffed wrist-and-ankle to a metal contraption, cold bars biting into his back and thighs. His arms are held above his head; his legs are spread at an obscene angle; steel pinches at his skin where the cuffs take his weight, his toes barely brushing the ground. Attempts to thrash against his bindings reveal his limp limbs and tongue still refusing to do his bidding. 

Panic finally takes hold of him, sending his heart and mind into frenzy; he feels tears rolling down his cheeks and his throat constricting, though no sound would come of it. Despair rules his spirit with an iron fist. 

As if on cue, heavy footsteps approach, forcing a silent scream. But even if he were able to do so, the sound of the door clanging open would have covered it. Eight men march into his quarters, dressed in leather armour, their faces grim. Loki’s eyes widen in recognition as they adjust to the darkness. 

There stood Brandr and Brandi the twins, Hjörr the Tall, Askr of the Golden Spear, Fleinn the Boar-Hunter, Otkell Captain of Odin’s fleet, Sveinn Slayer of Snakes, and Helgi the Younger, but merely one-and-twenty if he was a day. 

All these men Loki had already lain with over the past two months, on separate accounts, and to the pleasure and satisfaction of all parties. A few he would have loved, had he allowed himself that luxury. To think that these men are now sent to brutalize him - if it were not for his current predicament, Loki would laugh bitterly at this turn of events.

One of them – the dull glint of yellow hair hinting at either Otkell or Helgi – approaches, and Loki recoils inwardly, accepting the inevitable humiliation that must follow. 

A tender hand caresses his cheek, wiping away the wetness, and he looks, astonished, at his opponent’s face. “Fear not, dear prince,” Otkell’s seafoam eyes are outraged as he soothes a hand across Loki’s brow, “We know of your alleged misdeeds and the king’s intentions; this treatment is absurd and reflects badly upon his justice. Though we would risk our death by flouting the words of the Allfather outright, by the fruit of Yggdrasil, we shall not harm a hair on you.” 

Helgi nods eagerly; his hands are already working on Loki’s clothing, Askr striding forward to help. The prince’s eyes flutter, and close in either assent or resignation. His tunic is torn off efficiently, exposing his pale body and flaccid member; and with a word from Otkell the rest of the troupe make quick work of their armour and boots; some are entirely naked while some keep their unlaced breeches loosely around their waists. 

Hands roam his body gently, raking across his scalp and the back of his neck, until his breath slows and evens. Someone plays with his nipples, rolling and brushing them, and he is aware of bodies moving behind and in front of him. He braces himself for the assault; for though the captain promised no pain, he did not promise treating him unlike any other object of pleasure.

But the intrusion does not come. Instead, a wet noise and a kind voice prompts him to open his eyes, and he is greeted with the sight of Helgi and Askr in passionate embrace, their tongues twirling around each other’s. Askr’s brown hand lays upon the curve of Helgi’s pale backside; the dark runes and patterns intertwining on Askr’s tanned back and shoulders flex with movement. The fiery-headed twins join them, kissing down the men’s necks and shoulders, before moving towards Loki. 

Despite his fear and shame, a shock of desire surges through him as they kneel at his feet. Brandr’s hand wraps around his stirring cock, while Brandi’s long locks fall forward with the motion of his mouth, a hot, deft tongue wetting and teasing. Aside, a moan falls from Helgi’s lips as Askr presses him against a wall, grinding groin to groin, and Hjörr, Fleinn and Sveinn watch from a little distance, palming their erections. An attractive flush is rising from Sveinn’s collar; he moves to share a kiss with Hjörr, their hands playing across each other’s skin. The room is cramped enough that the smell of arousal is unmistakable.

Otkell nips at Loki’s shoulder to bring his attention back, and he finds his member being engulfed by the tight heat of Brandi’s lips; Loki’s eyes mist from pleasure, bringing Otkell’s smile slightly out of focus. Brandr moves out of sight behind the metal rack shortly before deft fingers part his buttocks and trace the rim of his entrance. 

The captain takes the initiative then to catch Loki’s face in his hands. “Forget your sadness, magpie. This is nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Soft lips press against the prince’s parched ones, which gasp raggedly as another mouth kisses and laves his hole, and yet another slides expertly down his shaft. The speed at which his cock hardens is almost embarrassing, if he had enough of a mind left to sense indignity. With Otkell’s tongue licking deeply into his mouth and the sucking on his lips, his wretchedness mostly dissipates and is replaced by the overwhelming urge to reciprocate.

He comes with Brandi’s fingers sliding into him, stretching his entrance, and Otkell still kissing him for all life’s worth. Brandr stands up with a wicked grin, wiping his swollen lips, and Brandi joins him, sucking a surprised moan and Loki’s come from his brother’s mouth. 

“He is ready, sir,” says Brandi, turning to the blond. Otkell gives a brief nod before turning to Loki with a playful light in his eyes.

“What do you think? Should I fuck you, now? Or shall I let someone else?” 

Momentarily blinded with lust, Loki blinks frantically and thinks _ye Norns, yes, you, anyone._ His thought is interrupted by a loud cry. It appears that Helgi has also come, impaled on Askr, whose broad length slips out of the younger man. Come drips out of the well-used entrance, and both collapse in each other’s arms, sated and filled with affection. Next to them, Fleinn’s hips piston against Sveinn’s upraised ass, while Hjörr lies under both, legs resting upon the snake-slayer’s shoulders. Wanton moans and the slap of flesh on flesh fill the air. 

Otkell follows the direction of his gaze and chuckles, each hand wrapped around his own hardness and Loki’s reawakening erection. 

“Watch the twins, too” he whispers into Loki’s ear, before situating himself behind the metal rack.

Loki obediently directs his attention to the redheads. They are positioned head-to-feet, each eagerly suckling on the other’s cocks, their ministrations punctuated with groans and gasps. Brandr slips a finger into his brother’s entrance and slides his lips downwards until his nose hits skin. 

At the same moment, he feels a pressure against his own hole, and Otkell sheathes his hard length at an unbearable pace. Loki’s mind almost breaks at the sensation of being stretched, inch by inch, deeper and deeper still; until he feels split open by the intrusion. Being suspended from the ground brings the illusion of being held up on Otkell’s cock alone. Warm breath brushes against the nape of his neck as Otkell pants and struggles for self-control, before moving in earnest. 

The friction and heat cloys him and makes him try to thrash and shiver. Otkell fucks into him with unerring aim, his hardness rubbing and hitting the prostate until Loki almost swoons from passion, maddeningly close but not yet there from the lack of attention to his straining cock. 

The captain comes inside him with a gasp, just as Brandi and Sveinn orgasm within seconds of each other, their voices hoarse from moaning. Otkell withdraws from his body and kisses him fondly; but Loki just wants to wriggle from the sudden cold and his unfulfilled desire. He is nearly glad for his imposed muteness, for surely he would be whining in a most undignified manner otherwise.

“Our highness is dissatisfied; do your duty, my friends,” Otkell leans against the door and smiles lazily at the ready figures of the other guards.

Hjörr stands, his erection bobbing, and disappears behind the frame. “Allow me,” comes the smirking quip, as he buries his length inside Loki’s wet hole, still dripping with Otkell’s seed. 

His cock is lesser in girth than Otkell’s but longer than the captain’s; Loki can feel the length reaching ever deeper and his own hardness jumps and leaks as the man grinds into him easily, hips circling, a hand lightly tracing the veins on Loki’s erection, the other grasping the metal frame, until his entire world seems shaking from Hjörr’s efforts.

At last Hjörr displaces his seed deep within the prince’s body, sighing as he slides out. And Loki is yet to come since preparation; his mind is screaming for someone to give him release, for someone to give him more, more, and more. Mercifully, Fleinn is not a believer in wasting time; he takes Hjörr’s place in a trice, the impressive thickness stretching Loki further than he thinks he can take. 

“So beautiful,” Otkell sighs, stroking a hand down Loki’s chest and abdomen while meeting Fleinn’s dark eyes, “I could watch this every day.“ 

His fingers linger and trace around the place where the men are joined intimately, and something loosens within Loki’s throat. He lets out a loud moan.

“Yes, scream for me,” the dark-haired man whispers, while Otkell strokes Loki’s length. They both take him at brutal pace, wringing guttural sounds from all men. 

“You would do well to heed Fleinn’s words,” Otkell says softly, rubbing his nose into Loki’s sweat-slicked shoulder, against the bruising bite mark, “That knave that struck you is listening at the door, waiting to report proceedings to Odin. Abuse us now so our lives may be spared.”

So Loki does, letting out a shrill cry as he comes again, sobbing. 

Helgi lines up his hardness at his loosened hole next. “Beg, please, beg for us.”

“No, please, ah –“Loki obliges, half-sincere; over-stimulation threatens with every slide and thrust, but Helgi is gentle, his soft, warm hand calming on his hip, and succeeds despite Loki’s protests to stir passion yet again. 

“You are so slack,” copper hair appears at the corner of his eye, “I wonder if – “

Loki moans weakly at the intrusion, though the abused walls of his passage wrap around it welcomingly. The man behind him huffs and shifts, and Loki startles, eyes wide, at the sensation of something else nudging and asking permit into his body. 

“No, no, I cannot, I beg you do not do this!” his voice is rough and wrecked.

“He protests too much; Askr, give him something to do with his mouth,” Otkell says, purposefully loud. The older man bares his teeth and nods, climbing atop the torture device, presenting Loki with a faceful of half-hard cock.

The twins drive home swiftly inside of him, arching his hips from the force, and Sveinn steps forward to hold it in place. The stretch is definitely sore this time, with undercurrents of pleasure. Loki cries out brokenly, and Askr thrusts roughly into his mouth, making him gag.

“Apologies,” he retreats slightly to allow more comfort for the prince, thrusting lightly while stroking his hair. The brothers are plunging rhythmically now, their way eased by the semen of previous guards. Never has he been so thoroughly stretched and used, even in his younger days suffused with debauchery; and there is nothing he could do but moan and take like an insatiable whore. 

They make him come almost painfully with a low whine, clenching around the impossible girth in his ass. A few thrusts later Brandr and Brandi leaves their seed within him, their lips smacking audibly against each other’s, and Askr comes shortly after, streaking Loki’s face with white. 

Spent, aching and exhausted, Loki blacks out while fingers tug at his constraints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on characters.  
> 1 & 2.  
> Brandr and Brandi the twins  
> Identical twins. Both brothers are redheads. With a medium complexion, pale blue eyes, and broad of shoulders. Brandr has short, slicked hair and Brandi keeps his long, like Thor’s. 
> 
> 3.  
> Hjörr the Tall  
> Like his name, tall even for an Aesir (around 6’5”). Brunette with keen hazel eyes and a nose like a hawk’s. 
> 
> 4.  
> Askr of the Golden Spear  
> Brunette with blue eyes. Tanned skin, tattooed. Strong arms that can throw a spear from hilltop to hilltop. Owns a golden spear. Steady lovers with Helgi. 
> 
> 5.  
> Fleinn the Boar-Hunter  
> Extremely dark hair and eyes, with a strong, square jaw and close-cropped beard. (Imagine Michael Fassbender with black hair and eyes). Once slew a boar terrorizing a village in the outskirts of Asgard. 
> 
> 6.  
> Otkell Captain of Odin’s fleet  
> Pale blond hair, seafoam-green eyes, and a smile like sunshine on a drizzly day. Reknown for his looks almost as much as his marine skills. 
> 
> 7.  
> Sveinn Slayer of Snakes  
> Dark hair, honey eyes. Once tore a giant snake into pieces with his bare hands.
> 
> 8.  
> Helgi the Younger  
> As opposed to Helgi the Elder, his brother, who was exiled. Twenty-one years old. Blond with green eyes, pale skin. Confessed huge crush on Loki at age seventeen. Steady lovers with Askr.


	3. Love's modest snow-white weed

He is lying face-down on his own bed, the scent of books and soap a familiar composition. 

Someone is wiping his body with a moist cloth. 

Cries and thuds are coming from beyond the doorway. With a rush of fear, his mind is taken back to that small cell and what happened within. He lashes out at the hand and tries to stand.

“Hush, brother,” says the carer, laying a palm between Loki’s shoulder blades. “My brothers-in-arms are taking care of some business.”

“Thor?” He breathes shakily.

“Ay, that is my name,” comes the soft answer.

“I feel sick.”

A wooden pail is brought to his bedside, wherein he upends the contents of his stomach, bile burning in his throat. Thor waits patiently, brushing back Loki’s hair from his face.

A resounding scream echoes in the corridor; Loki coughs, wiping his mouth and wincing reflexively.

“Is that -?”

“The ill-begotten dog of a whoreson that dared strike you. The guards have told me all. But you are upset; shall I call for them to stop?”

Loki’s lips thin and twist. “No.”

Thor stares at him for a long moment. “I am sorry I was not here to stay father’s hand.”

“You do not know what would have happened had you been here,” Loki says bitterly.

“I think I do,” Thor disagrees. 

“You would have done that to me? Forced me on my back against my will, and took me like an animal?”

“I would have loved you, brother,” Thor declares, “I would have taken care of you, many years ago, if only you had let me!”

Heat engulfs his heart as he looks into Thor’s bright eyes. “You do love me,” he says, like a question.

“How do you doubt that,” Thor answers, truly puzzled.

Loki’s pale fists bunch into Thor’s tunic; and if the thunderer feels the wetness against his shoulder, he does not speak of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first gangbang fic (my my third PWP?) - sorry if I made you cringe /o\  
> Kudos and comments much appreciated, as always <3

**Author's Note:**

> ”Snow-White Weed” comes from Shakespeare’s “The Rape of Lucrece”: 
> 
> 'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not  
> To darken her whose light excelleth thine;  
> And die, unhallowed thoughts, before you blot  
> With your uncleanness that which is divine;  
> Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine;  
> Let fair humanity abhor the deed  
> That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.


End file.
